‘Just easing you into the case, that’s all.’ Rebus nodded slowly, but Flight knew he didn’t wholly believe him.
Out at the car, Rebus glanced in through the back window, seeking the teddy bear.
‘I killed it,’ Flight said, unlocking the driver’s door. ‘The perfect murder.’
‘So what’s Edinburgh like?’
Rebus knew Flight wasn’t talking about the tourist Edinburgh, home to the Festival and the Castle. He was talking about criminal Edinburgh, which was another city altogether.
‘Well,’ he replied, ‘we’ve still got a drug problem, and loan sharks seem to be making a comeback, but other than that things are fairly quiet at the moment.’
‘But,’ Flight reminded him, ‘you did have that child killer a few years back.’
Rebus nodded.
‘And you solved it.’ Rebus made no reply to this. They’d managed to keep out of the media the fact that it had been personal, had not exactly been ‘serial’.
‘Thousands of man hours solved it,’ he said casually.
‘That’s not what the chiefs think,’ said Flight. ‘They think you’re some kind of serial killer guru.’
‘They’re wrong,’ said Rebus. ‘I’m just a copper, the same as you are. So who exactly are the chiefs? Whose idea was it?’
But Flight shook his head. ‘I’m not exactly sure. I mean, I know who the chiefs are – Laine, Chief Superintendent Pearson – but not which one of them is responsible for your being here.’
‘It was Laine’s name on the letter,’ said Rebus, knowing this didn’t really mean anything.
Then he watched the midday pedestrians scurrying along the pavements. The traffic was at a standstill. He and Flight had come just over three miles in the best part of half an hour. Roadworks, double (and triple) parking, a succession of traffic lights and pedestrian crossings and some maddening tactics from selfish drivers had reduced their progress to a crawl. Flight seemed to read his mind.
‘We’ll be out of this in a couple of minutes,’ he said. He was thinking over what Rebus had said, just a copper, the same as you are . But Rebus had caught the child killer, hadn’t he? The files on the case credited him with the collar, a collar which had earned him the rank of Inspector. No, Rebus was just being modest, that was it. And you had to admire him for that.
A couple of minutes later, they had moved a further fifteen yards and were about to pass a narrow junction with a No Entry sign at its mouth. Flight glanced up this side-street. ‘Time to take a few liberties,’ he said, turning the steering-wheel hard. One side of the street was lined with market stalls. Rebus could hear the stall-holders sharpening their patter against the whetstone of passing trade. Nobody paid the slightest attention to a car travelling the wrong way down a one-way street, until a boy pulling a mobile stall from one side of the road to the other halted their progress. A meaty fist banged on the driver’s side window. Flight rolled down the window, and a head appeared, extraordinarily pink and round and totally hairless.
‘Oi, what’s your fucking game then?’ The words died in his throat. ‘Oh, it’s you Mister Flight. Didn’t recognise the motor.’
‘Hello, Arnold,’ Flight said quietly, his eyes on the ponderous movement of the stall ahead. ‘How’s tricks?’
The man laughed nervously. ‘Keeping me nose clean, Mister Flight.’
Only now did Flight deign to turn his head towards the man. ‘That’s good,’ he said. Rebus had never heard those two words sound so threatening. Their road ahead was now clear. ‘Keep it that way,’ Flight said, moving off.
Rebus stared at him, waiting for an explanation.
‘Sex offender,’ Flight said. ‘Two previous. Children. The psychiatrists say he’s okay now, but I don’t know. With that sort of thing, one hundred percent sure isn’t quite sure enough. He’s been working the market now for a few weeks, loading and unloading. Sometimes he gives me good
Out at the car, Rebus glanced in through the back window, seeking the teddy bear.
‘I killed it,’ Flight said, unlocking the driver’s door. ‘The perfect murder.’
‘So what’s Edinburgh like?’
Rebus knew Flight wasn’t talking about the tourist Edinburgh, home to the Festival and the Castle. He was talking about criminal Edinburgh, which was another city altogether.
‘Well,’ he replied, ‘we’ve still got a drug problem, and loan sharks seem to be making a comeback, but other than that things are fairly quiet at the moment.’
‘But,’ Flight reminded him, ‘you did have that child killer a few years back.’
Rebus nodded.
‘And you solved it.’ Rebus made no reply to this. They’d managed to keep out of the media the fact that it had been personal, had not exactly been ‘serial’.
‘Thousands of man hours solved it,’ he said casually.
‘That’s not what the chiefs think,’ said Flight. ‘They think you’re some kind of serial killer guru.’
‘They’re wrong,’ said Rebus. ‘I’m just a copper, the same as you are. So who exactly are the chiefs? Whose idea was it?’
But Flight shook his head. ‘I’m not exactly sure. I mean, I know who the chiefs are – Laine, Chief Superintendent Pearson – but not which one of them is responsible for your being here.’
‘It was Laine’s name on the letter,’ said Rebus, knowing this didn’t really mean anything.
Then he watched the midday pedestrians scurrying along the pavements. The traffic was at a standstill. He and Flight had come just over three miles in the best part of half an hour. Roadworks, double (and triple) parking, a succession of traffic lights and pedestrian crossings and some maddening tactics from selfish drivers had reduced their progress to a crawl. Flight seemed to read his mind.
‘We’ll be out of this in a couple of minutes,’ he said. He was thinking over what Rebus had said, just a copper, the same as you are . But Rebus had caught the child killer, hadn’t he? The files on the case credited him with the collar, a collar which had earned him the rank of Inspector. No, Rebus was just being modest, that was it. And you had to admire him for that.
A couple of minutes later, they had moved a further fifteen yards and were about to pass a narrow junction with a No Entry sign at its mouth. Flight glanced up this side-street. ‘Time to take a few liberties,’ he said, turning the steering-wheel hard. One side of the street was lined with market stalls. Rebus could hear the stall-holders sharpening their patter against the whetstone of passing trade. Nobody paid the slightest attention to a car travelling the wrong way down a one-way street, until a boy pulling a mobile stall from one side of the road to the other halted their progress. A meaty fist banged on the driver’s side window. Flight rolled down the window, and a head appeared, extraordinarily pink and round and totally hairless.
‘Oi, what’s your fucking game then?’ The words died in his throat. ‘Oh, it’s you Mister Flight. Didn’t recognise the motor.’
‘Hello, Arnold,’ Flight said quietly, his eyes on the ponderous movement of the stall ahead. ‘How’s tricks?’
The man laughed nervously. ‘Keeping me nose clean, Mister Flight.’
Only now did Flight deign to turn his head towards the man. ‘That’s good,’ he said. Rebus had never heard those two words sound so threatening. Their road ahead was now clear. ‘Keep it that way,’ Flight said, moving off.
Rebus stared at him, waiting for an explanation.
‘Sex offender,’ Flight said. ‘Two previous. Children. The psychiatrists say he’s okay now, but I don’t know. With that sort of thing, one hundred percent sure isn’t quite sure enough. He’s been working the market now for a few weeks, loading and unloading. Sometimes he gives me good
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